


This Misery Will Suffice

by KaytiKazoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Claudia Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Multiple Realities, Multiple Universes Colliding, Near Future, One-Sided Relationship, One-Sided Theo Raeken/Stiles Stilinski, Past Heather/Stiles Stilinski, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaytiKazoo/pseuds/KaytiKazoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles, unknowingly, lives two lives, falling asleep in one and waking up in the other. In one, he lives with Derek and their dog in a small apartment after surviving what Stiles considers to be an actual supernatural hell. The other, Stiles lives with his son in a small apartment in a world where there is no such thing as werewolves or nogitsunes and his mother never died. <br/>But what happens when Stiles finally knows of his two realities? What happens when the lines between the two begin to blur, and the only one who knows is Stiles?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Derek

Stiles had once thought that he would never live to graduate high school. With bad guys popping up out of the woodwork every time they put the previous bad guy down, he figured that he was going to be cut down before he had that chance. He had thought that he would die a painful death in the dark caverns of Eichen House, the Nogitsune or Theo or the Beast finally taking his will to live away. He had thought that there was no way that he got to live happily ever after, not after the life they had led since sophomore year of high school. He had thought that he didn’t deserve to. He was the reason that Scott had been bitten, and the reason that Erica, Boyd, Allison were dead. If they hadn’t gone out that night into the Preserve looking for Laura Hale’s body, it wouldn’t have led to so much evil flocking to Beacon Hills.

Without all that, though, he wouldn’t be where he was, 25 years old with a Master’s degree and a steady job working in his field, living with his boyfriend and their dog in a nice apartment together. He might have been happy, graduating high school with only Scott as a friend, moving to college and whatever came after that. But the life that he had led had led him to Derek Hale.

He never would have met and fallen in love with the surly sour wolf if he hadn’t dragged Scott out that night.

“Honey, I’m home,” Stiles called, shutting the door to their apartment and dropping his work bag onto the desk beside it. “Derek?”

Nacho was his only response as the dog came tearing through the living room at him, jumping up to set his big paws right on Stiles’ chest.

“Hey bud. Where’s your other dad, huh? He should be home by now.”

He scratched behind Nacho’s ridiculously large ears. Nacho was a pit bull-Saint Bernard mix that had been brought to Deaton and Scott’s clinic after being rescued about a year before. He had been extremely dehydrated, malnourished, and clearly had been beaten and neglected in his life. After they had cleared him of any health issues, they decided to put him up for adoption. Except, they didn’t have the facilities at the time to keep him at the clinic. Derek and Stiles had agreed to take Nacho home to foster him while Scott tried to find him a home, and after about three months of waiting for a forever home, Stiles had convinced Derek to adopt him.

“You’re such a good boy. Come on, I think it’s dinner time for you.”

He pushed Nacho to the ground gently and kicked off his shoes underneath the desk by the door. They lived in a small, one-bedroom apartment in the downtown of Beacon Hills, all of their stuff crammed into the small space. It was their own, though, small or not.

He led Nacho into the kitchen and laughed.

Derek, his big, scary, scruffy werewolf of a boyfriend, was covered in flour as he kneaded bread dough by hand. There was flour in his beard, and all over his signature Henley.

“Oh my god,” he said, pressing a hand into his stomach as he giggled. “You are so cute.”

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” Derek said in defense, holding up doughy hands. “I was gonna-”

“You’re making me a surprise dinner.”

“I am.”

Stiles strode around the counter and took his boyfriend by his floury beard, pulling him into a kiss. His lips tasted like sharp cheddar cheese.

“You’re making mac and cheese,” Stiles crowed. “You never make mac and cheese. You’re always so-”

“It clogs your arteries,” Derek replied. “But it’s a special occasion.”

“What is? Today?”

“Mmmm,” he hummed. “Go get changed. I think there’s a Mets game on.”

“What is this all about?”

“You’ll see,” Derek muttered. He turned Stiles with his floury hands, pushed him away, and smacked his ass playfully. “Go relax. We’ll talk when dinner’s done.”

“Okay.”

Stiles retreated into the living room, shrugging off his coat while Nacho followed, butt wiggling excitedly as he expected to be pet. He led them into the bedroom where he peeled off his dress shirt and slacks, tossing them into their hamper. He changed into a pair of Derek’s sweatpants- which he knew drove Derek crazy- and an old lacrosse warm-up, before heading out into the living room again. He flopped on their couch, switched the television on, and found the Mets game.

This was unexpected, coming home to Derek making Stiles’ favorite meal and being diverted to the living room for a Mets game.

Stiles was deliriously happy, though.

It was just all out of nowhere, although not unwelcome. He didn’t know Derek to be the surprise date kind of boyfriend, which was okay. Stiles didn’t need big romantic gestures, not when Derek crawled into bed with him every night. He got Derek Hale, the hottest, softest man in all of Beacon Hills, to come home to.

The Mets were, unsurprisingly, down by two in the bottom of the eighth when Derek came swinging out of the kitchen with two bowls of steaming mac and cheese and a glass of wine for each of them.

“Oh, and you broke into the wine,” Stiles cooed as Derek set the bowls on the coffee table in front of Stiles. “It _must_ be a special occasion.”

“Do I have to have a reason to break out the wine for my favorite person?”

“No,” Stiles said. “But I suspect you have an ulterior motive anyway.”

Derek grinned, and Stiles’ heart melted.

“I would never,” he murmured, moving in to kiss Stiles gently. “Now come down here and eat with me.”

“I’ll eat something, alright,” Stiles replied, sliding into the spot between the table and the couch next to Derek.

“Stiles!”

“I’m joking. Partially.”

“Eat your food, you dork.”

Stiles picked up his fork and bumped into Derek playfully. He took a bite and moaned around it. Mac and cheese was something his mother used to make when he was little, when Stiles was upset, when the Sheriff- then just a deputy- was working too long hours and Stiles was missing his father. It was comforting, and it made an easy meal to make and to eat when he was working with a new family or before he had graduated and he was studying late into the night. Stiles remembered sitting at the kitchen table, watching his mother hum as she chopped the cheese and stirred the boiling pasta. Every time he had mac and cheese, really good mac and cheese, it transported him back to that seat while he watched his mother cook. He’d been trying to perfect her recipe since she had died, but it was never quite right.

“How did you figure it out?” he asked after finishing his first bite. “This is exactly-”

“I did what you didn’t think to do.”

“Clearly.”

“I asked your dad.”

“Oh.”

“So it’s good?”

“It’s perfect. It’s more than perfect. This is exactly how Mom used to make it.”

Derek tried to hide a pleased smile by taking a bite, but Stiles could see the small blush in his cheeks and the crinkle in his eyes. They’d been together long enough that Derek couldn’t hide from Stiles.

“So, what is my favorite bottle of wine and my favorite meal leading to? Are you- Are you going to propose? Is that what this is?”

“Do you want me to propose?” Derek asked, eyes down. He flicked his gaze cautiously to Stiles.

“I don’t- Are you?”

“Only if you say yes.”

“Derek.”

“Stiles, I love you. I want to live the rest of my life with you. I want to adopt dogs with you and live in a big house with all of you. I want to have dinner ready for you when you get home, and I want to surprise you when you’ve had a long week. I don’t want to be away from you. I want to be here for you to come home to, and if that includes you agreeing to marry me, then yes, I am asking you to marry me. But we don’t have to get married to be happy together. I’m only asking if you want i-”

“Yes!”

Derek’s eyebrows expressed the surprise that the rest of his face didn’t.

“Babe, absolutely.”

Stiles pushed the coffee table away and then climbed up into his lap. He pressed his hands flat against Derek’s cheeks, pursing his lips as Stiles kissed him.

“I absolutely want all of that. I want to adopt every dog and have a big house with you and have dinners with you and, and, just all of it. I want you, whatever way you will let me have you.”

Derek kissed him back, pushing Stiles’ hands of his cheeks and moving them down into their laps.

“There’s a ring, right?” Stiles asked, pulling away.

“Yeah, it’s,” Derek paused to wriggle his hand into his jeans and then back out. He opened his palm up and showed Stiles a sleek, silver band. “It’s not much. I didn’t want to get you anything flashy.”

“It’s perfect,” Stiles mumbled. “You had better put that ring on my finger right now.”

Derek grinned and took Stiles’ left hand, and slid the ring down his finger. It fit perfectly. Stiles admired it, turning it so it caught the light in all the right ways.

“Wait,” Stiles said, looking up. “You asked my dad for the recipe.”

“I did.”

“Did you tell him what you needed the recipe for?”

Derek blushed.

“Derek Hale, did you ask my dad for permission to marry me? I am not some maiden, you know!”

He hit Derek in the chest.

“I know, it’s just tradition.”

“What?”

“Werewolves, you know, territorial creatures. They like to stake a claim on what’s theirs, and if you intend on taking someone else’s family as your own family, you need to ask their permission.”

“That’s dumb.”

“I know. It’s just a thing. I’m sorry if it offends you.”

Stiles laughed, using Derek’s shoulders as an anchor.

“It doesn’t _offend me_ , Derek. It’s cute as fuck. You and your werewolf manners, you’re such a gentleman. Meanwhile, I am fully human and I was raised by wolves.”

He laughed, tossing his chin up as he thought about it.

“I never would’ve thought about asking your family for their permission to take your hand in marriage, not once.”

“Well, I don’t have a lot of family to ask.”

“Who would I ask?”

“My alpha.”

“I have to ask _Scott_ to marry you?” Stiles asked. “He’s going to laugh in my face.”

“Stiles, you don’t have to ask anyone-”

“I am going to, you know I am.”

“Stiles Stilinski, you will not.”

“Oh, now it’s a challenge.”

Derek picked Stiles up easily from his lap and dumped him onto the floor.

“Eat your food. There’s dessert waiting for you.”

“Is the dessert you in bed? If not, can we add that to the menu?”

“I’m sure the chef wouldn’t mind,” Derek grinned. “Eat your mac and cheese, Stiles.”


	2. Levi

Stiles woke up, and stretched. He wasn’t even that old, but his entire body ached and he felt more than a few joints crack. That’s what he got, he guessed, for sleeping on the pull-out couch in the living room.

“You can always come back home, sweetie. There’s more than enough room for you _and_ Levi _,_ ” his mom would say every time he complained about the couch.

He got up, groaning and heading into the bedroom.

“Come on, little man,” he yawned. He flicked on the overhead light and sank beside his son’s bed. Levi was tucked deep into his covers, his BB-8 pillow hugged tight to his chest. His mop of brown hair stuck up against the pillow and his freckled face was relaxed, little mouth open while he let out tiny snores. This was the only time Stiles ever saw his son peaceful. “You gotta get up. Grandpa’s gonna stop by to take you to school.”

He nudged his five-year-old, and tickled his neck.

“Levi, wake up, baby.”

His mother always laughed when Stiles complained about waking Levi up, saying, “Yeah, well, you were the exact same way, Stiles.”

“No,” Levi grunted.

“That’s not really an option.”

“Noooooooooooooo.”

“You have one minute before I start a full body tickle!”

“No.”

“Then you better wake up, sleepy face.”

Levi grunted in return.

“I have to get ready for work, Levi. And you need to get ready for school. Don’t you want to go see Emily and Peyton?”

Levi rolled over and fixed sleepy, brown eyes on him. He grunted.

“No.”

“Well, that’s too bad.”

Stiles scooped his son up out of his bed and carried him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. He deposited him on his feet by the tub and started the water for a shower. Levi groaned but pulled his pajama top over his head. Stiles dropped a kiss onto Levi’s forehead, which the sleepy five-year-old pushed him away for with an angry grumble.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re very grumpy, aren’t you? Take a shower, you grump.”

He left the bathroom, leaving the door open, and heading into their kitchen to make Levi’s breakfast which he would complain about. He loved the kid, honestly, because he was the light of Stiles’ life. Everything about Levi was great. He was smart, and funny, and he had a great imagination. He was all Stiles had left of Heather since she died before their son had even turned one.

He loved Levi with all that he had, loved being around him and listening to his stories, but he was such a grump. He hated that Stiles had to be gone working all the time, and Stiles hated that he had to spend so much time away from his son. He missed so many of Levi’s cradle lacrosse games because he was stuck working double shifts and afternoons that he was supposed to have off, someone always calling in from one job or the other.

“Dad!” Levi called.

Stiles popped up the toast and headed into the bathroom. His son stood on the bathmat, dripping like a drowned rat, towel wrapped around his torso.

“What’s up, bud?”

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Yes, you do. I did laundry yesterday.”

“No! Nothing I own is good enough!”

“Why’s that? It was fine yesterday.”

Levi suddenly turned a bright crimson, and Stiles knew. He knelt down so he was eye level.

“So, there’s a new kid in class, huh?”

“No!”

“You know better than to lie to me, bud.”

Levi frowned.

“Okay, there’s a new girl.”

“Is there? And what’s this new girl’s name?”

“May.”

“Is May cute?”

“Dad!”

Stiles grinned and tweaked his son’s nose.

“Come on, we’ll find you the snazziest thing you own. And after school, I’ll pick you up and we’ll buy you a brand new outfit, or two. How’s that sound?”

Levi nodded, then paused.

“Can we afford that?”

Stiles’ heart broke. He had never wanted his son to worry about money. He hadn’t been able to finish college, to get the degree he wanted, because he was taking care of his son while mourning his best friend’s death. He had to work two jobs and leave his son with babysitters and his grandparents far more often than he wanted to, and they lived in an apartment not really big enough for the both of them. They struggled for money, and Stiles _thought_ that he’d been hiding it, but- he wasn’t raising a fool.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll make it work.”

“You don’t ha-”

“Buddy, leave that to me, okay? You look fresh for your crush, I’ll handle the adult side of this.”

Levi frowned.

“Come on, short stack.”

He herded his son into his bedroom, and they sorted through the disaster zone of Levi’s dresser and closet. They came up with one of Levi’s cleanest, least used shirts and a pair of his best skinny jeans.

“There, now you have something to wear to impress your lady.”

“You’re so embarrassing!” Levi cried, shoving Stiles away.

“We’ve reached that stage already, huh? I thought we would wait until at least you hit puberty.”

“Go take a shower!” Levi stated firmly, pointing towards the door. “I’ve got this.”

Stiles laughed.

“Breakfast is on the counter when you’re done, if you’re so adult to get it yourself.”

“Dad!”

Stiles headed back into the bathroom, shaking his head. His father was probably still laughing that Stiles’ son turned out to be just like him, how he was getting a taste of his own damn medicine.

“Lord help me,” he muttered, turning the water on. “Lord give me the strength.”

He got ready for work, working around a five year old with a sudden obsession with the mirror.

“Stiles? Is Levi ready?” the Sheriff called, opening the door to the apartment.

“Yeah.”

“Grandpa!” Levi cried at the same time, streaking through the living room and launching into Stiles’ father’s arms. The Sheriff laughed, swinging Levi around. “Do you like my clothes?”

Stiles tied his apron around his waist, watching his son and father interact. He clipped on his name tag and put on his shoes while Levi strutted for the Sheriff, puffing his chest up proudly. His son was the perfect mixture of Stiles and Heather, with Stiles’ brown hair but Heather’s curls, with Stiles’ nose but Heather’s blue eyes. Stiles had ended up being the carbon copy of his mother, and Heather her father. But their son was a good mix of them. He liked seeing Heather in his son, instead of staring into an odd funhouse mirror.

“You guys had better take off,” Stiles said.

“Daddy’s taking me shopping later!” Levi announced.

“He is? What for?”

“Levi likes a girl, and he wants to _impress_ her.”

“Does he?”

The Sheriff got down on eye level with Levi.

“Is she law-abiding?”

“Grandpa!” Levi groaned. “Not you too!”

Stiles shrugged his jacket on and ruffled his son’s hair, pocketing his keys. The Sheriff caught Stiles’ arm.

“Do you have money to take him shopping?”

“It’s fine, Dad. I’ll manage.”

“You don’t have to just _manage_ , Stiles.”

He pulled out his wallet from a pocket and started to rifle through it.

“Dad, no.”

“Take it,” the Sheriff insisted, holding out a small fold of bills.

“No, I can’t.”

“Stiles, don’t be stubborn. Take the money. You shouldn’t struggle because your son wants to impress someone.”

“We won’t. It’ll be fine.”

He pushed his father’s hand back, and opened the door.

“Levi, come say goodbye.”

Levi came running from his room, backpack on his shoulders. He slammed into Stiles’ legs and hugged him around the waist.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“Oh, buddy,” Stiles cooed, dropping down to hug Levi properly. “I love you, too. Have a great day at school, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Remember I’ll be picking you up today, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Okay, well, give me a kiss.”

He got a wet kiss smacked on his lips before he had to go.

“Stiles?” the Sheriff called.

“Yeah?”

“Drive safe.”

Stiles stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“I will.”


	3. Derek

Stiles decided to ask Scott anyway, despite the knowledge that he definitely _would_ laugh in his face, because it was the _proper_ thing to do- and because he liked teasing Derek. Mostly because of the teasing. He loved teasing Derek. He couldn’t wait to tell this story to Derek later, about how he actually asked his alpha for his hand in marriage.

“Hey Stiles, this is a surprise,” Scott said as Stiles walked into the vet clinic the next afternoon. “I thought you were gonna spend your day off with Derek.”

“Derek is actually what I came to talk to you about.”

“Is he being an ass again? Because I’ll talk to him if you want. I’m not afraid of him.”

“You are a little.”

“I am n-”

“But I appreciate the sentiment, bud.”

Scott snorted, and stood up from the desk. He tucked a chart into a plastic box tacked onto the exam room door before returning to lean against the other side.

“What’s this about, if Derek isn’t misbehaving?”

“Well, I was talking to him last night, and it turns out that if we want to get married, I need permission from his alpha.”

“What.”

Stiles grinned.

“Which part are we confused by?”

“All of it. The marriage. The permission. The _alpha_ part.”

“Well, I want to marry him. He makes every part of my life better. According to werewolf tradition or something, I have to ask his alpha, that would be you, for permission to marry him. So, Alpha McCall, I would like t-”

“No.”

“You can’t tell me no, Scott.”

“I can. I’m not giving my permission.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I think it’s archaic.”

“It totally is!” Stiles agreed, cracking a smile. He was afraid that Scott meant that he didn’t approve of their marriage or their relationship in general. He was afraid the no actually meant no. Which was dumb, honestly. Scott was nothing but supportive.

“So you’re gonna ask him to marry you?”

“Well, no.”

“What do you mean?”

Stiles dug the ring out of his pocket and slid it onto his ring finger. He displayed it to Scott with a shit-eating grin.

“He already asked me. And I said yes.”

Scott’s eyes widened.

“Are you kidding me? All of this and you’re _already_ engaged? You’re an asshole, Stiles. Congratulations, but you’re an asshole still.”

Stiles grinned.

“You’re the first person I told,” Stiles informed him. “So don’t say anything to your mom, because she might tell my dad and I want to be the one to tell him.”

“I won’t tell.”

“Good.”

“I’m so happy for you. So, how’d he do it?”

“He wasn’t subtle about it.”

“Not exactly a Derek trait.”

“He made Mom’s mac and cheese, and kicked me out to watch the Mets game. He got me a bottle of wine, and he was adorably insecure about the whole thing. He only asked me if I wanted him to, and if he knew I was gonna say yes. It was good. I wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Stiles. We’ve had- well, some rough times. You deserve everything that you and Derek have built together. You deserve your happiness.”

Stiles looked at his ring, and smiled.

“I’m so happy, Scott. I didn’t think that I would ever get this, you know? After everything I’ve done and everything that’s happened, I can’t believe that we’re here. We both have good jobs, and you and Kira are happy, and Derek and I are happy. We’re in good places. Finally. After fighting tooth and nail for this, I’m just-”

He shrugged.

“-It’s really good.”

“I get it. I can’t believe we’re here either.”

“If you’re going through hell,” Stiles said.

“What’s that?”

“Just something that Morrell told me once.”

He danced his fingers across the desk, watching his ring. He couldn’t believe that this was real. He half expected to wake up from this beautiful dream to find himself back in high school, fighting for his life. He never wanted to go back there. He never wanted to go through that again.

He’d had enough danger in his life.

“When are you going to tell your dad?”

“Tonight, I think. Derek’s at work all day, and my dad has the night off. I thought I might drop in, surprise him, drop the bomb on him.”

“It’s not really a bomb. We were all kind of expecting one of you to pop the question eventually. You’ve had a dog for a year, and you’ve lived together for longer, and you’ve been together for even longer than that. It’s about damn time, honestly.”

Stiles laughed.

“I know. We just don’t want to rush into anything. We want to make sure that we actually do want what is expected of us.”

“I get that. Sort of.”

“No, you don’t. You and Kira kind of jumped headlong into commitment and adulthood as soon as we graduated. You had an apartment, and you were engaged, and now you’re Mr. and Mrs. Yuki-McCall.”

“It’s McCall-Yukimura, but okay.”

“I know that. You get what I mean, though. You and Kira are Mr. and Mrs. Commitment so of course, compared to you, Derek and I would seem like we’re going at a snail’s pace.”

Scott laughed, and replied, “it’s _Doctor_ and Mrs. Commitment.”

“It’s almost Doctor and Doctor, isn’t it? She’s graduating with her Doctorate soon, right?”

“In the spring!”

“That’s awesome, Scott. We should do something for her when it’s official. A party, or something.”

“She’d love that. We could get her friends from college, and the rest of the pack together! She’d love it.”

Stiles’ phone buzzed in his pocket.

**From: Father Unit**

**If you’re coming over tonight, buy groceries. Melissa and I haven’t had time, and we have nothing.**

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I have to go, I guess. I have to go grocery shopping for dinner with Dad tonight.”

“Does your dad know what you wanna talk to him about?”

“I suspect he does, because Derek asked him for permission to ask me to marry him.”

“He did?”

Stiles nodded.

“He’s such a dork, but I’m, you know, getting married to him. I just want to be the one to tell my dad that I said yes before the news gets out and reaches him, and then he gets irritated with me for not telling him, and you know how my dad is.”

“Say hi to my mom, will you?”

“I will. See you later, bro.”

-&-

Stiles had their dinner ready by the time Melissa and then his dad got home.

“It smells great in here!” Melissa called to him, hanging up her purse and kicking off her shoes. “What did you make?”

“Fettuccini.”

“That’s not exactly on your father’s diet,” she said, walking into the kitchen. They had moved into a brand new house together after they got together, not wanting the memories of Claudia or Raphael to taint their new relationship. “How’d you manage? Or are you giving your father a pass because you have some good news?”

“I’m assuming he told you, then.”

She sank into a seat at the island with a grin.

“He did. And I’m assuming you’re here to tell us that you said yes.”

“I cannot confirm or deny that right now. What I can confirm is that I used low-fat ingredients, and there’s mushrooms and Brussel sprouts to make dinner.”

“Brussel sprouts, that’ll go over well with your father.”

“That’s why I paired it with the knowledge that he’s gonna have a son-in-law.”

Melissa nodded.

“Can I try some?” she asked, nodding to the pot.

Stiles grinned and twirled a fork in the noodles and stabbed a mushroom before handing the fork over to her. He pulled a bottle of red wine from the fridge and scoured through drawers until he found a corkscrew.

“I can’t believe that something Stiles made smells this good!” the Sheriff called. “It had better not be healthy.”

“It is,” Stiles and Melissa called like a promise.

“God _damn_ it.”

“Language,” Stiles scolded.

“Hush, offspring.”

“Never, predecessor.”

His father came into the kitchen, walking over to kiss Melissa.

“When did my son become a spoiled brat who could talk to me like that?”

“You raised him like this.”

“I did, unfortunately.”

Stiles dished out three portions of the fettuccini, and poured three glasses of wine.

“Can you set the table, Dad?”

“I just got off a long shift at work an-”

“I’ll do it,” Melissa said, shoving the Sheriff playfully, “even though I, too, got off a long shift at work.”

Stiles got the garlic bread out of the oven where he left it to keep warm, and cut it into small slices.

“Carry these over to the table, will you?” Stiles asked his father, nodding to the glasses of wine.

“You’re so demanding.”

“Indeed, I am.”

His father grabbed the three glasses and carried them to the table while Stiles finished up plating their dinner. He balanced their plates on his arms, and carried them after him into the dining room.

“That doesn’t look half bad,” the Sheriff sinking into a seat while surveying the food in front of them. “What’d you do to it?”

“There may be Brussel sprouts in it,” Melissa said, dropping a napkin by each one of them and sitting on the other side of the Sheriff.

“There’s what in what?” the Sheriff asked, a frown taking over his features. He turned and gave Stiles an accusatory look. “Why did you do that?”

Stiles grinned.

“Because I’m evil that way.”

“Clearly.”

“Besides, it balances with the news that I have for you.”

“Oh, what’s that?” the Sheriff asked, trying- and failing- to feign ignorance, like he didn’t already know what Stiles was about to tell him.

“I’m sure you’ve put two and two together, but Derek asked me to marry him. And I said yes.”

Melissa grinned at Stiles.

“Congratulations. Derek’s a good kid,” the Sheriff said, nudging Stiles. “And despite what I thought originally, he makes you happy, and I’m supportive of anything that can do that.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles said with a genuine smile. He hadn’t stopped smiling, honestly, since Derek had asked him. Even when he wasn’t smiling physically, everything else inside of him was vibrating with happiness. “Now, just eat your Brussel sprouts as a congratulations to me.”


	4. Levi

The day after Stiles took Levi out for his new clothes, he had to work both of his jobs. He got ready for work, lifted Levi up into his arms, and carried him to the Jeep without waking him. Loathingly, Stiles left him to finish sleeping in his room at his parents’ house, kissing his son goodbye before he even got to greet the day with him.

“I’ll be back to pick him up after work,” Stiles grumbled, taking the offered travel mug of coffee from his barely conscious father. He sat at the kitchen table, nursing his own extraordinarily large mug of black coffee, eyelids fighting to stay at even half-mast. “Thanks. See you later.”

With that, he left his childhood home and headed for his shitty, secondhand Jeep. He fucking hated that thing, hated it with a burning passion. It was stubborn, refusing to just _die_ so he could justify getting a new car. It was stubborn, but so was he and he would drive that fucking thing until it wheezed out its last dying breath, and he was victorious.

On days like these, where Stiles had to work both of his jobs, it usually worked one way. He went to work, first opening and singlehandedly running the coffee shop until his manager arrived, and then working at the locally sourced food market, running the checkout register for a grumpy old lady who didn’t like anyone or anything.

“Stiles! How are you today?” a young mother of two who visited regularly asked him as she set her basket of fruit and vegetables on the counter in front of him. “How’s Levi?”

Her name was Veronica, and she had a daughter about Levi’s age who was in Levi’s grade but a different class. She came in every week to pick up a variety of fresh ingredients to supplement the boxed mac and cheese and frozen dinners that she had to feed her kids. She was really nice, and extremely chipper for being a young mother of two who was in the same predicament as Stiles.

“I’m alright. Levi’s good. He’s got a crush on a girl.”

“He does? That’s adorable!”

“Yeah, well, if he’s anything like me, it’s going to last a while.”

“How long is that?”

“Well, I’ll let you know when I get over my crush on a girl from third grade.”

She laughed, brushing her blonde hair behind her shoulder.

“That’s actually really cute, if a little sad.”

“I’m the master of cute, and sad.”

She laughed again, dropping her head so her hair fell in front of her face. She was cute, Stiles noticed that every week, with ivory skin so clear she looked like porcelain and big grey eyes, little freckles peppered across her cheeks and nose.

“Do you want anything else today? There’s apples on sale! They look really good and fresh.”

“No, if I bring apples home, my kids won’t eat anything else.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“One would think, except that I am not kidding when I say that they won’t eat anything else. They will eat apples until they explode. I don’t know how I produced those weirdos, but I did. They’re weirdly obsessed, and I hate apples.”

“I can’t get Levi to eat anything vaguely healthy unless I threaten him. It’s all French toast and Club crackers. I’m pretty sure my parents even have to bribe him to eat dinner.”

Veronica’s phone _brrrrp’d_ in her hand and she looked down.

“ _Shit_ , I forgot I had to meet with a consultant today,” she groaned, pulling out her wallet and leafing through the bills to find two twenties. She handed them over and scooped up her bags. “Keep the change, Stiles. I’ve gotta go. See you next week?”

“I’ll probably, most definitely be here.”

“See you, then,” she said, and hurried away from him and out of the market. He sighed and rested back against the counter.

“No leaning,” the manager barked on her way past.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles replied, pushing himself up onto his already aching feet. He grabbed the one distraction he was allowed, a tired, old farmer’s almanac from beside the register and flipped to his favorite page. It was the forecast for the day that Levi was born, which was actually the day that Heather was supposed to be due originally before the doctors moved her due date around about three times.

He still remembered the day that Heather called him to give him the news. They were just kids, barely out of high school, and they had been dumb. One broken condom from one slightly drunken hook up, and their lives had changed. Heather had called him from her dorm room, in tears.

“Stiles, I’m pregnant,” she had sobbed.

Stiles, admittedly, hadn’t been sure what she had said the first time, and instead just hopped in his stupid Jeep and driven to her dorm for clarification. They considered all of the options together, but ultimately, the second they both heard Levi’s fast heartbeat on the ultrasound, they couldn’t do anything but keep him. Stiles and Heather dropped out of college together, got a nice apartment, picked up some jobs, and started their life together.

Levi was a name picked from a baby name book, because Stiles wasn’t passing on his grandfather’s name to a small, innocent, unsuspecting infant, and Heather didn’t have any family names she wanted to pass along.

Levi Anthony Stilinski was born in the middle of the day on September 23rd.

Heather died seven months later in a car crash, leaving Stiles alone with an infant, an apartment he couldn’t afford, and a need not to need his parents’ help.

“Stilinski,” one of the assistant managers, a much nicer lady closer to his age named Julia greeted him. “I brought you something.”

She held out a pack of chicken nuggets from the fast food restaurant across the street, and what looked like a trashy magazine.

“Go on your 15, and sit down. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

Stiles rounded the counter to press a kiss into her cheek, and nap the offered items.

“You’re a godsend, Jules. You really are.”

He headed for the break room, which honestly wasn’t _really_ a break room if you looked at it closely enough. It was small, barely enough room for the desk and the coatrack. He sank into the desk chair with his chicken nuggets and plopped the guilty pleasure trash magazine on top of the training computer’s keyboard, and relaxed.

Of course, which was when the overhead PA system kicked on with an ugly crackle.

“ ** _STILES STILINSKI TO THE MANAGER’S OFFICE. STILES STILINSKI TO THE MANAGER’S OFFICE_**.”

He groaned, popped a nugget into his mouth whole, and headed for the manager’s office, located at the opposite end of the market from the breakroom. He found the general manager, the old lady who hated everything in the store from the customers to the workers to their products, sitting at her desk.

“The phone is for you,” she snapped. “What did I tell you about personal phone calls?”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, hunching over and taking the phone from her wrinkled, clawed hand. “Hello?”

“Oh! Finally! Mr. Stilinski, this is Principle Weatherby at Beacon Elementary. I’m calling about your son, Levi.”

-&-

Stiles had been on the other end of this meeting a lot growing up, sitting beside his dad or mom with his head hung down in shame of getting caught. He would peek at the principle’s face, then his parent’s to gauge how much trouble he was actually in. He loved doing the things that got him into trouble, but being in the seat after getting caught was not something he had enjoyed. His father’s face always looked vaguely disappointed, but he would shrug it off as they headed for the cruiser, telling him that he needed to be a better criminal. His mother’s was blank, neutral. She never yelled, but instead would tell him later that she wasn’t angry at him, but she was disappointed in him.

That wounded him more than the yelling might have.

He would prefer to be the child in this situation, he discovered, sitting in the adult sized chair beside his son, another parent and a child sitting in a second set of chairs to their left. The kid was twice the size of Levi, holding an ice pack to his face.

Levi didn’t have a scratch on him.

“We’re here because Levi and Joshua got into a fight today,” Principle Weatherby started. He was just the way that Stiles remembered him, in his grey suit and salt and pepper hair slicked back away from his face, leaving his beard to confront you first.

“Excuse me,” the other parent, a tiny woman who Stiles could probably knock over by breathing too hard, piped up. “From what I can tell, it was not a fight, but that boy viciously attacked my Joshua, and I will not stand for Joshua to be punished or even _accused_ of violence when he clearly is not the one at fault her.”

“Mrs. Clifford, I’ve spoken with the boys personally, and I’ve talked with their teacher, and several students who witnessed the event. From all accounts, while Levi is the one who started the fight, Joshua was not entirely innocent in the first place. From what I understand, Joshua was teasing Levi, which caused Levi to strike out physically. Here at Beacon Elementary, we do not condone physical violence, nor do we tolerate verbal harassment. We have dec-”

“Well, if Levi was brought up in a nice, conventional home, maybe he wouldn’t strike other children!” Mrs. Clifford snapped, interrupting Principle Weatherby. Stiles looked up from where he was examining the laminate edge of Weatherby’s desk and turned to look at the woman. She was red with pent up anger, her bleached hair pulled into a serious ponytail.

“Mrs. Clifford, there’s no n-”

“A nice, conventional home,” Stiles repeated slowly.

“I know what you do with that sleazy Raeken kid, Mr. Stilinski, and there’s no way someone like you could raise a child right.”

Stiles wanted to behave, but he had landed in this office throughout his years at school for exactly this reason.

“And what do you mean by _someone like me_ , Mrs. Clifford?”

“Let’s be ci-”

“You _know_ what I mean, Mr. Stilinski.”

“I’m not sure I do. I am many things, you see,” he said. “I’m a single dad, for one, like Principle Weatherby here. But I’m assuming you’re not referring to that, are you?”

“You know what I’m referring to.”

“It’s not polite to discriminate or make assumptions about people based on their sexuality, Mrs. Clifford. No wonder your son was verbally harassing my son.”

“I want Joshua transferred out of that class,” Mrs. Clifford demanded, turning to Principle Weatherby who looked lost, and confused at the events unfolding in front of him. “I won’t have my son exposed to his kind of filth. I won’t have my son associating with a fag.”

Stiles rose to his feet, then.

“What did you say?”

“Mrs. Clifford, we do not tolerate hate spe-”

Mrs. Clifford, five foot even, stood as well, staring up at him with her nostrils flared.

“You heard me,” she snarled. “Sucking dick for Raeken doesn’t cause loss of hearing.”

He hadn’t dealt with many homophobes in his life, especially since he had the entire Sheriff’s department behind him. He wanted to punch her in her smug, hateful face, and then spit on her. He wanted to strike back for calling him, and his son, such an awful name. Stiles stepped back instead, and offered his hand to Levi who hopped off the chair to grab it.

“Principle Weatherby, I don’t want my son exposed to this. I’m taking him home for the day. I would like to make a request to transfer Levi out of any class where Joshua Clifford is in attendance, just to make sure they’re _both_ safe.”

“I think that is best, Stiles. Will you stop by my office tomorrow at the start of the day?” Weatherby asked, rising to his feet as well.

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow. Come on, Lee. We’re going to get your stuff, and then we’re going home.”

-&-

Stiles sat Levi at the kitchen table with his homework open in front of him while he made lunch.

“What did Mrs. Clifford mean about,” Levi started to ask, but then frowned. “Was it mean?”

“You know that I like boys, right? You’ve seen Theo around, and we do couple things like Grandma and Grandpa do.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, some people don’t think that people of the same sex should be able to do couple things together.”

“What’s a sex?” Levi asked, setting down his pencil.

“Well, it’s whether you’re a girl or a boy, or in-between, depending. It’s your private parts, what’s hidden by your bathing suit.”

“Oh,” he said.

Stiles cut the crust from the sandwiches he made for them, and set them aside to check on the soup.

“So she doesn’t like Theo?” Levi asked.

“Well, probably, but she doesn’t like the idea of me and Theo together more than she doesn’t like Theo as a person.”

“Why?”

“Some people just don’t understand. They don’t understand that not everyone falls into nice little boxes, you know? They don’t get that it’s okay to be different, that different isn’t bad or scary. It’s just, it’s not wrong.”

“Okay.”

Stiles didn’t expect that to be the end of the conversation. His son was voraciously curious, and often about things that Stiles wasn’t really okay with telling him about, or about things that Stiles didn’t have the answers to.

“Dad?” Levi asked quietly as Stiles ladled out two bowls of chicken noodle soup.

“What’s up, bud?”

“What did Mrs. Clifford mean when she called me a bag?”

Stiles cringed, carrying Levi’s sandwich plate and soup bowl over to the table.

“She didn’t call you a _bag_ , Levi,” he said carefully. “What she said, I never want you repeating, okay? It was a very hurtful name.”

“Okay, Daddy. I won’t say it.”

Stiles kissed Levi’s forehead.

“Now, let’s talk about what happened before Mrs. Clifford. What happened?”

“Joshua wasn’t picking on me, well, not only me! I told May that she looked very pretty today and then Joshua told me that only girls are nice to girls and that I shouldn’t talk to May and if I did then I had to be a girl. I don’t get it, why would being a girl be a bad thing. Girls are just as cool as boys!”

Stiles sat at the table with his own food, and listened.

“It made May sad, and I didn’t like May being sad, so I told Joshua to knock it off, and he didn’t, he just said that I was sticking up for a girl who didn’t deserve it, and that it made me, well, I think he called me the bad word that you told me not to say, but that’s not why I hit him. He called May a bad word, too, I think, because Miss Tracey made a noise, and May started to cry, so I hit him. And I know I shouldn’t have, because you told me that I shouldn’t ever hit somebody, not ever, but he just, he just, he _deserved_ it, Daddy!”

His little cheeks were red, the little moles and freckles he’d inherited from Stiles standing out against the color, and he had tears in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Stiles said, scooting his chair towards Levi. “Look, buddy, I’m not mad for what you did. I’m proud of you for standing up to Joshua, but you can’t hit people, even if you think they deserve it. Next time, if Joshua or anybody else is mean to you, I want you to walk away, okay? Just walk away, and tell the teacher or Miss Tracey if they’re being mean. It’s not worth getting sent to Weatherby’s office.”

“Bu-”

“No buts, okay? Just don’t hit people.”

Levi sighed, and picked up his sandwich. He took an angry little bite from it and then grumbled out an okay. Stiles watched him while eating his own sandwich. He was an odd little kid sometimes, grumpy when there was nothing to be grumpy about and a ray of sunshine when nothing went their way. He once cried on their way to the park because he didn’t want to see the grass, and he once made up an entire song about the Jeep breaking down on their way to school. He was odd, but Stiles was glad he had him. He was glad he was raising a kid that stood up for himself and his friends, and understood that being a girl wasn’t equivalent to being weak and that there was nothing wrong with same sex couples. He would get shit from his parents when they found out that Levi had given Joshua Clifford a black eye.

You should teach Levi that hitting doesn’t solve anything, they would say. How could he be such a brute?

That brute was the light of Stiles’ life, little punching fists of fury and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be some kind of pattern to my update schedule, but because of who I am as a person, that was never gonna actually work. So, you know, you'll get it when I remember, I guess.  
> I hope you like it so far!  
> Remember to comment, subscribe, bookmark, leave kudos, share it with your friends if you did!!!   
> You can find me on tumblr @ scoottiemccutie, on Twitter @scoottsmccutes and on Instagram (if you wanna see my dog's face, I guess???) @Hypocorismm :)
> 
> DFTBA  
> -K


	5. Derek

“Stiles,” Derek called, popping his head out of the bathroom as Stiles walked in early the next morning, the clock glowing **6:06**. He’d drank a little too much wine at the celebration with his dad and Melissa, and had decided to stay until he sobered. Then, he’d fallen asleep on the couch, clutching an empty wine bottle like a favorite toy. He’d sent a text, full of misspellings, to Derek to warn him that he would be late, if he came home at all. “That you, babe?”

Nacho was curled up at the end of their couch, tail thumping against the cushion while he refused to get up to greet him.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“I have a crick in my neck and my breath smells like fermented grapes.”

“I think you also have a wine stain on your mouth.”

Stiles scratched behind Nacho’s ears as he passed by the couch on the way to Derek.

“Do you have a hangover?”

“No, but I don’t feel great.”

“That’s probably from sleeping on the couch.”

“Probably. Can I get a kiss?”

“Not with that breath,” Derek teased, even as he pulled Stiles in to kiss him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Stiles muttered. “How was your night?”

“Peaceful. I got a lot of reading done since my roommate was out partying like crazy. And I cleaned the bathroom.”

“You’re my favorite,” Stiles cooed. “That roommate sounds like a bum, and you’re my favorite.”

“Mmm, he’s great in bed, though.”

“Well, at least he has some perks.”

Derek laughed and nuzzled his jaw.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you so much.”

“I can’t wait to be Mr. Hale,” Stiles replied. “Or Mr. Stilinski. Or, do you want to hyphen our names? Stilinski-Hale?”

“Stiles, we can worry about that later. Right now, I want to cuddle with my fiancé before we disappear to work.”

“Okay.”

They made steaming mugs of coffee that warmed their hands and climbed onto the couch together to drink them, resting against each other with Nacho trying to crawl up into their laps. It was nice, Stiles thought, even as brief as it was. This was his family, the loves of his life, and this is what his life was going to be. He couldn’t be happier. This is what he wanted every morning, to just sit with his to-be husband and their dog. It didn’t matter how much time he got to spend with them, because he would always get to come home to them. Soon, though, Stiles got up to shower, and brushed the coffee-wine breath from his teeth, and headed for work.

Midday, between his cases, Stiles sent Derek a text.

**To: Hotter Hale**

**I’m gonna be late to dinner, gonna see my mom after work**

**From: Hotter Hale**

**Okay be safe**

**To: Hotter Hale**

**I will. I love you.**

After work, Stiles packed up his bag with his case files, called a goodbye to his coworkers left in the office, and headed out. He stopped by the local flower shop where Derek worked to pick up his mother’s favorite flowers.

“Hey,” Derek said, as if he was surprised to see him. “I didn’t think you were stopping by.”

“I needed to pick up flowers.”

“Right. Sorry. It’s been busy as hell here.”

“Why? It’s not Valentine’s Day or anything.”

“A lot of people fucking up their relationships, probably,” Derek replied. “It’s also a good time for anniversaries, I think.”

“Yeah, I guess. Do you have those white-”

“I’ll get a vase together for you.”

“God, I love you.”

Derek smiled and went to gather flowers from the greenhouse. Stiles examined cards set up by the register, cards for all occasions, birthdays, anniversaries, apologies, congratulations, and condolences. He remembered getting bundles and bundles of flowers delivered to the house after his mom’s death, from people all over the country whose lives had been touched by Claudia, all offering their condolences for their loss, all offering their sympathies, like flowers were going to bring Stiles’ mom back.

“Well, hello stranger,” Derek’s boss, an older lady with a greying ponytail, said as she came from the greenhouse. She pulled the gardening gloves from her hands and tossed them near the register. “I have missed your pretty face.”

“Hey Dot.”

“Did you bring me some good news to snack on?”

He laughed.

“Did Derek tell you that he proposed?”

“No, he did not! Let me see the ring!”

Stiles offered his hand to her and she seized it like a starving man and a hamburger. She nearly dragged him over the counter to pull his hand to her.

“How precious.”

“Can you not _precious_ all over my ring?”

She laughed and turned his hand to watch the light play on it.

“Oh, god,” Derek groaned, following Dot out of the greenhouse. “I was trying to avoid her knowing.”

“Please, pumpkin, you can’t keep anything from me.”

“It’s true. Dot sees all,” Stiles agreed, drawing his hand away from her slowly. Derek set the vase of flowers in front of Stiles with a sincere smile. “I don’t know how a man so scruffy and burly can put such beautiful arrangements together.”

“Well, that’s because you’re looking at it through a gendered scope, assuming that men can’t work with flowers because they’re men,” Dot said. “Stop doing that, and you’ll understand.”

Stiles loved Dot.

“How much?” he asked instead.

“On the house,” Dot said.

“No. That’s not how this works. You’re a small business, and you deserve much more than whatever you’re going to charge me. How much?”

Dot smiled but rung him up. He was pretty sure that Dot wasn’t charging him the full price, but it was something.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Stiles said, looking at Derek as he picked up the vase. “I promise I won’t be too late.”

“Take all the time you need.”

“Okay, I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Derek said with a grin. He smiled in returned before moving to kiss Derek lightly on the cheek, and left after saying goodbye to Dot. He belted the vase of flowers into the passenger seat of his car, and headed for the cemetery. It had been awhile since he had been to see her.

Her headstone was beautiful, sleek marble with delicate letterings spelling out her name, birth and death date, and the script “Always loving; always loved.” There was small solar powered lights stuck in the ground in front of it, always illuminating the stone.

“Hey Mom,” Stiles said, setting the vase down beside the solar lights, and kneeling in front of the grave. “It’s been a while, and I know you know that, but I just, I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t really thought about it. That’s shitty, but I think that’s what you’d want from me. To move on? To live my life? I don’t know, but I have been, living, moving on. That’s what people always tell you, that the people you’ve lost want you to be happy and live your blah blah blah, whatever. I bet that you would just want me to be here, to congratulate me and tell me how much you love me, and to spoil the fuck out of Nacho. God, you would love him. And Derek. But you would prefer Nacho, because he’s a dog and I know how you are.”

He laughed to himself, resting his head in his hands.

“Dogs are always better than people, right? We’re engaged, Derek and I. He asked me a few days ago, and I’ve told Dad, and Melissa. I should’ve come to you first. You’re who I’ve always wanted to tell first when things happen in my life. When Derek kissed me for the first time, I wanted to run into your room like I used to when I was little. I wanted to crawl into your bed and tell you how I met this boy, and while our lives haven’t been great, he’s been there through all of it. I wanted to tell you about kissing him, and the first time we slept in the same bed, and the first time that Nacho crawled into bed with us. I want to share everything with you, but life took you away from me.

“But it gave me Derek. It took everything away from him, too, but I like to think that it gave me to him for a reason. I just, I think you’d like him, Mom. He’s a good guy. The best I’ve ever imagined. I’ve gone over this with you again and again, but I just can’t get over how good life has been to me recently. You’d like him. There’s sunshine in his soul, I swear. And there’s entire galaxies in his eyes. Literal galaxies. And, I guess this is the best part for you, he’s a werewolf, so he’s half wolf, which is kind of like a dog.”

He laughed.

“He’d kick my ass from here to you if he ever heard me say that. He hates dog jokes.”

He reached out and touched her name.

“He made your mac and cheese. I’ve been trying for fifteen years, and I never managed it. But he did it, and he did it for me. He made your mac and cheese _perfectly_. If that’s not a sign of a good man, I don’t know what is, Mom.”


End file.
